


Goldsmith

by Chiwibel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aurënfaie, Doctor!Anders, Drunkenness, Fenders Family Secret Santa 2015, M/M, Modern AU, Photographer!Fenris, Pre-Slash, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiwibel/pseuds/Chiwibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris gave up and was ready to leave when he saw it. Him. A man with golden hair wearing a worn down coat kneeling in front of a very clean tombstone full of flowers at its feet.</p><p>Snap.</p><p>(Fenders Secret Santa for Aurenfaie)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goldsmith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurënfaie (Aurenfaie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurenfaie/gifts).



> For the Fenders Secret Santa where Aurënfaie / aurenfaiewrites wanted something and I failed horribly to deliver (just as expected from me). My deepest apologies. Still, I had quite a blast writing this (in a language not my own and with no alpha or beta to read, what the hell was I thinking). Honestly, it was going to be much longer but whatever part did not get told is better left to be completed by you. ANYWAYS I'M SORRY BECAUSE THIS SUCKS and I'm sure I sound pretentious af. Please, please, please let me know about any mistake you see. And thank you so much for reading. Also, I'm sorry. Again.

**...**

**Goldsmith**

**...**

**For Aurënfaie**

 

* * *

 

 

With a grunt, Fenris tore in half and threw another photograph into some God forsaken corner of the disaster he dared to call his bedroom. He hadn't been able to come up with anything barely decent, much less good, and the contest was less than a week away.

 

So much for being both the judges' preference and the fan favorite among all the contestants.

 

Winning could get him the deal of his life and Fenris knew that if someone could take a picture worth of a million words, it was himself. Of course, if only he could get out of the metaphorical sea of frustration and pressure everything would be great. But it wasn't and he had to deal with it, somehow.

 

His hands tore at white strands of hair, maybe going bald was the answer. Maybe something completely unrelated was the answer for everything. It worked for Hawke _most_ of the time. Fenris wondered if that was how Varric felt when dealing against a deadline. Not like the elf hadn't had his fair share of them but neither were the stakes so high. There was much to win and much to lose too, he told himself, as his reputations and other people's opinions were what made him the go-to guy for almost everything: documentaries, reports, magazines of all kinds, even a couple of successful B-movies had a part on his curriculum.

 

Yes, being good for oneself was enough. More than enough. Or it would be after he could afford to not worry about bringing food to the table for his sister and himself. It was a matter of practicality in the end.

 

“Fenris”, his sister voice called for him from the other side of the door, “the cab is on its way to pick us up”.

 

He'd almost forgotten their own car needed new tires, a spark plug and _whatsitsname_ to make the AC work like it was supposed to do, not releasing an entire level of Hell at their faces every time it was turned on. He needed money for that too.

 

Fuck capitalism.

 

His sister, Varania, knocked once more, insistent.

 

“I heard you”, Fenris said loud enough for her to stop assaulting his door. Fighting against gravity, he stood up from his desk chair and went to his closet, though most of his clothes were scattered around his room anyway. A gray shirt and the black pants he already had on should suffice. He took the camera on his way out.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Fenris did not like cemeteries.

 

But popular belief also stated he didn't like many things either.

 

His sister was waiting for him in the living room, standing near the door of their apartment. Fenris frowned. Varania wore a brown and plain dress and the sight of it on her hurt, too similar to the one she had to use while cleaning houses years ago. For all Fenris hated it, Varania didn't seem to mind not even a bit about that nor anything, really. The apathy she confronted most things with was admirable, if worrisome to some extent.

 

“We didn't get her any flowers this time”, Varania said on the way down. A short way, as they lived on a fourth floor.

 

“Nor last year, nor the one before that”, Fenris added, “if it makes you feel better, we can pick some from another tombstone. Again”.

 

“You're a bad influence”.

 

“It was your idea first, three years ago”.

 

The sun shone and Fenris realized the time was probably around midday. He didn't bother carrying a watch these days. Thankfully, the cab was already waiting for them at the building's entrance and saved the pair from waiting under the heat. They both went for the back seat, each opening their own door.

 

Inside, a dwarf was driving while listening to music that sounded more like it came form an elevator than jazz. The name on the tag at the front said Bartrand, and he asked them where were they going.

 

“To the Gallows”, Varania answered and any conversation they could have had died there.

 

The silence was comfortable for Fenris and he guessed the dwarf felt the same, as he seemed relaxed most of the way. His sister just feel asleep on his shoulder. He took the camera and looked out of the window, trying to focus on anything outside. City shots were his forte but the angle his position offered held back any energy and flow his photos could have captured (why _oh why_ did he take only a pair of lenses). Also, he had enough pictures of the Kirkwall to make Google Maps look cheap.

 

Nature overtook the scenery the farther they got from the city. Clichéd but charming enough for Fenris to take a chance.

 

_Snap._

 

Ugh.

 

To be fair, it was a good shot but in the current state he found himself in, everything would look like crap in his eyes. Maybe if he was in the front seat or if he got out he could get some nice looking crap, with some flies flying over it. There even were some cows ruminating outside.

 

Fenris had to accept it. Nothing could get done during his mother's death anniversary, no matter how indifferent the pair of siblings tried to appear.

 

“We're here”, Bartrand said and it was enough for Varania to wake up. She asked the driver to wait for them a couple of minutes, that they wouldn't take long, and extended him a hand with the quantity the taximeter indicated and an extra share for the wait.

 

The Gallows cemetery welcomed them less depressingly each time they visited, it was becoming more and more a chore for them and Fenris supposed it wouldn't take long for one of them to comment nothing would happened if they skipped going one year, they'll go the next one but they wouldn't. Nor the next. Nor ever. It was a matter of time until one of them gave up on waiting for the other to speak up.

 

Still, the place was a sight for sore eyes with its haunting pillars, dead flowers and trees without leaves. Too stereotypical for his current tastes and he already had a considerable amount of pictures from his starting years in photography.

 

Their mother's tombstone was near enough for them to keep sight of the taxi cab, with no trees near and surrounded by other little and dusty stone cruxes and whatnot. Varania called it the corner of forgotten souls, because it never had any signals of visits. The first photo Fenris took there had that caption on the back. And it also was the title of the blog he had in his younger years, when he took _Crawling_ 's lyrics seriously.

 

Maybe all he needed was to go back to the basics. The leaves over his mother's name did give it a nice touch indeed. Camera out. Lens adjusted.

 

_Snap._

 

Ugh.

 

“Seriously?”, Varania asked unimpressed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you this desperate? The deadline is still a week away”.

 

“And tomorrow it'll be six days away and the next day it'll be four days away and so on”, Fenris said deadpanned.

 

“You could at least try and say some words for her”.

 

“Alright”. Fenris looked intensely at the tomb and then back at Varania. “I failed”.

 

While Varania had been at some point the most affected by their mother's death, even hating Fenris at some point and blaming him for it, it did not stop her from laughing at his mannerisms. She rarely called him by his previous name too, evidencing coming at peace with the fact he was leaving the past in the past.

 

“Let's just go”, Varania said pulling Fenris amr softly.

 

“Go ahead, I'll give it another try”.

 

His sister shrugged and walked back to the cab still waiting for them. Fenris grunted, another try to what? The talking to inanimate objects? The horrendous picture? He'd never know. Even more frustrated that that morning, he looked up, left, right, left and down to finally keep his eyes straight at the horizon. Maybe a shot of the sky. Maybe of some dead branches.

 

Maybe of his own dead body when he killed himself out of frustration with a plastic spoon and a piece of gum.

 

Fenris gave up and was ready to leave when he saw it. Him. Lens adjusted. Zoom in. Under a tall and wide tree with barely and leaves left was a person. A man with golden hair wearing a worn down coat kneeling in front of a very clean tombstone full of flowers at its feet. The name written on stone was too far and too little for Fenris to read it but it didn't bother him, the dance on sunlight and shadows on the man's hair and back kept all his attention.

 

His entire pose reeked desperation and loss. The scene was otherworldly, heartbreaking and perfect. Between the sun, the hair and the ends of autumn, the man looked like a statue made of the most pure gold in existence.

 

The man raised a bit and kissed the name in front of him.

 

_Snap._

 

Fenris ran immediately after seeing the man looking right back at him. His eyes were golden too.

 

It took the elf less that half a minute to reach the car and get inside. Bartrand turned on the engine unfazed while Varania frowned. “Did you kill someone?”, she asked.

 

They had been living together for five years and Fenris was sure he would never completely understand her humor. Ignoring her and catching up his breath (lost more from the adrenaline of being caught than from activity itself), he checked the last picture in his camera.

 

The picture, just as he had seen it in all its golden glory, was there.

 

“What a creep”, Varania said eyeing the image before accommodating herself on Fenris shoulder to sleep all the way back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The week passed and Fenris could have cared more but after the picture he took of the man all the other photos looked even worse. He had to send that one, he had to, and he was going to lose because it was all wrong. The color, the focus, the pose, the scenery, too much detail, too little detail, too emotional, too pretentious; nothing was remotely right and yet.

 

And yet.

 

He had won.

 

_Ugh._

 

When he presented the picture, people were surprised. It was certainly out of the content they expected of him. When he won, he was too. It was out of everything he expected of himself. Of course, going out of one's boundaries always worked with movies, the Oscar went most of the time to that one actor that had gone to "incredible lengths" for a character. Fenris also knew jackshit about movies. Questions were made and what Fenris understood from the judges was that his photo was the best _out of all the entries_ _received_. So he won because the others were worse. Good enough, he thought counting the zeros written on his check. Good enough, indeed.

 

"I've never seen so many zeroes in your hands", Varania commented on their way to the nearest bank, "how do you plan on carrying all that money back?"

 

"Never heard of deposits?"

 

"Banks are nothing but lies".

 

"Bad day to leave you Sex Pistols' shirt at home, then", said Fenris, dodging Varania's shoulder. Varania was just like him when he had ran from their stepfather and changed his name, never trusting and always paranoid, but she was on her was to achieve the same progress Fenris had reached in less time, which made him happy. The elf adjusted his jacket, it was a cloudy and cold day but he was certain it wouldn't snow. There was no snow on Kirkwall.

 

"Hey", his sister said, hands in her pockets "what do you believe the man thinks if your photo? It's been everywhere".

 

She was right. Magazines, posters, a couple of cigar boxes even (likely a cruel joke, nothing else), newspapers, buildings. Why, he had no clue but Fenris firmly believed it would be over in two, maybe three, days. He was getting sick of seeing nothing but the depressing man crying over whoever was buried under three meters of dirt and maggots. No conversation could be had without mentioning it either, apparently, with the picture being Varric's preferred issue of the week.

 

The question was left unanswered. Varania didn't mind, her brother's body language said more than his words ever would. Rigid shoulders, deep frown and pursed lips. She knew Fenris could not care less for the picture nor the man. Still, trying to make conversation was something he appreciated.

 

"You know, I think Malboro made a meme out of you photo", she laughed.

 

_Ugh._

 

* * *

 

 

The Hanged Man was loud and warm, a pub in the busiest part of Lowtown and home sweet home for those that had more alcohol than water in their veins.

 

And Varric Thetras, full-time storyteller dwarf and half-time mafia boss. Maybe. Possibly. Aveline had nothing to prove it. (Yet, she said over and over).

 

The pub was also the place where most of Fenris' friends reunited at night, be it for cards, bussiness or just trivial talk. It had been that way for a couple of years until two or three months ago, when all of their careers seemed to reach that point where no one had time for anything and you dreamed about work. Varric was past that point and had been for decades, which was the reason he was the only one here to greet Fenris in the dwarf's private corner.

 

"Want a status update, elf?", Varric joked. The dwarf imitated Orcus in his throne with terrifying accuracy for someone of his size. Fenris nodded slouching over the nearest chair. "Merrill is at an art exposition, Isabela went with her. Hawke's filming something abut dragons, finally, and Aveline is on duty. Just you and me tonight, Broody, and no one here to stop me from getting all your money for once. I heard you got your check".

 

With a mere gesture of Varric's hand, wine was brought to their table in record time. The dwarf would deny every day of his life it but he really owned the place. Fenris took the camera hanging from his neck off and set it on the table. There was no place he'd go without it but the way its weight brought him back to reality stressed him.

 

" _Kaffas_ , mention the damned picture just one more time and your precious Stone will weep for whatever I'll do to Bianca", Fenris gestured to the lustrous crossbow on the wall rudely. "I had hoped to introduce Varania to our activities, her shift at the hospital ends early tonight".

 

"I'm glad you guys are on good terms. Diamondback?"

 

"Please", Fenris answered extending a hand to the dwarf, "she seems happy being a nurse. Maybe serving others is something I won't be able to get out of her head".

 

"Maybe getting things out of her head is something you have to get out of yours", said Varric dealing the hands, "And I know it's not my problem, you've made that clear enough, but I'd hate to see you going back to square one".

 

"Rest assured that's not going to happen anytime soon”. Fenris smiled, his hand was good. It always was. Serving himself a glass of wine, he relaxed. The evening went by peacefully and surprisingly it had gotten quieter and quieter, which was quite a feat for the usual Hanged Man's clientele. He won most hands, as expected.

 

Varric checked the time on the nearest wall clock, “You know, I'm expecting a friend too, what are the odds for your sister and him to come here at the same time, probably together? Just like in my cheap romances”.

 

“Oddly specific for a question coming from you”, Fenris said nonchalantly.

 

“Well, the oddly specific thing is happening right now right behind your back”, Varric said looking over the elf's shoulder wearing a grin on his face.

 

“If this is your way of distracting me to see my cards, then let me tell you Isabela has better chances than you do and she always uses the same trick with her breasts”.

 

“No”, said a third voice Fenris did not recognize, “this is his way of getting us to meet each other”.

 

What he did recognize when Fenris had the grace to turn his head around, was the golden hair, the gold eyes, the man had. And now that Fenris could see his face clearer he noted the golden aura irradiating from him. The man of the picture. With Varania at his side.

 

They faced each other for an entire minute and Fenris just knew the hateful look the man gave him was mirrored by his own.

 

“What are you doing with him?” Fenris asked his sister.

 

“Doctor Anders is my boss”, she answered unfazed and taking a seat at his side to greet Varric. “He offered to drive me home but I told him I was coming here”.

 

“And coincidentally”, continued the man, Anders, “so was I”. He took a seat right besides Varric, who patted him on the shoulder. Anders looked tired in the was only people who lived tired twenty-four seven could and his white coat hung from his shoulders heavily. Varania was also wearing her uniform but did not look as haggard as the doctor did.

 

Indignation filled Fenris.

 

“You knew him all this time”, he told his sister, “why did you not say anything?”

 

“I don't have the highest opinion of you” replied Anders instead.

 

“She can speak for herself”, countered Fenris almost growling. The mere presence of the man, knowing there was no way of getting an evening, a reality, free of that picture, angered him immensely.

 

“Can I, brother?”, said Varania frowning. Fenris tried to calm himself. “As he said, he's not exactly happy about a photo of him being everywhere. People have started recognizing him and making questions at the Clinic”.

 

“A photo of myself at my husband's grave, I might add”.

Great, an angry widower.

 

“You did say you wanted to meet the guy, Blondie”, Varric added, obviously enjoying the tension between all of them. “But you also said you wanted to cut him in little pieces and feed your cats with his remains”.

 

“I wouldn't poison my dear children like that, Varric!”, Anders said feigning offense. The dwarf and Varania snorted.

 

An angry widower and cat-lover.

 

_Ugh._

 

Fenris had to admit that, if the joke had been about someone else's remains he would have laughed too. Or maybe if he had had more wine. But as it was, he only frowned even more, especially with the look his sister was giving him along her smile (see why I didn't say anything?).

 

“How do you two know each other?” Varania asked.

 

“Blondie and I go to the same kind of writer meetings, the same hairdresser and, what can I say, he's my chest hair's number two fan”, replied Varric.

 

“You mean he works for you”, declared Fenris.

 

“From time to time, yes”, Varric stated still grinning from ear to ear. “He does write though. And has healing hands, you won't find someone that gives better back massages than Blondie here in all of Thedas. Nor better handjo—“.

 

“Stop it, Varric, don't make me blush in front of my nurse!”. Too late, as Ander's face was completely red.

 

“That's nothing compared to the rumors of your past as a stripper” Varania added.

 

“Oh, but those aren't just rumors”, said Varric.

 

“Varric!”

 

Ander's red face and shameful smile made him _shine_. Fenris' fingers twitched, his hands empty and screaming for the camera. He had to take a picture of the man like that, tall, content, alive… So different from the Anders he saw at the graveyard, the Anders in the picture he wanted to burn and erase from the world. The man in front of him was the one that should have been everyehere.

 

Camera in hand, Fenris stood up.

 

“We're leaving”, he said instead. The others looked at him in silence.

“Really?”, Varric cocked an eyebrow, “they just got here”.

 

“It's late and they both work tomorrow”.

 

“ _They_ can also speak for themselves” commented Anders disdainfully.

 

“Oh, I don't know, doctor” said Varania laughing lightly, she also stood up and took his brother's arm, “can we really?”

 

“I guess not”. Anders followed them and got on his feet, stretching. “I have to admit the grumpy one is right, we do work tomorrow. At least tell me how are you both getting home this late? Not by walking I hope”. When Fenris didn't say anything, he continued, “At least least me drive you there”.

 

Fenris was going oppose but Varania tightened the hold of his arm. He nodded and kept his mouth shut, as it was late and his pride wasn't worth risking their safety. But how he wished it was. The three of them wished goodnight to Varric, who had a knowing smile while saying his farewells in return.

 

Anders' car was parked just outside The Hanged Man entrance and for a second Fenris reconsidered not having said anything. The car was old. _Coffin with wheels_ old. Before he could get a word to come out of his mouth into the cold night, Varania had already sat at the front seat while Anders turned on the engine. With defeat upon his shoulders and the camera in his hands, Fenris slumped at the back seat.

 

If they spoke about him or to him, Fenris ignored them both, too deep in his thoughts all the way to the apartment. The fact Anders knew where they lived now left him uneasy, especially after how the doctor eyed him in the front mirror (something he tried to ignore). When they reached their destination, Fenris barely waved his hand while Varania and Anders shared their see-you-laters.

 

He dreamed of the face he should have taken a picture of.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, Varania spoke little about her boss in the couple of weeks that followed, which led Fenris to believe Anders was still bitter about the… issue.

 

In any case, he had been right. The fever died down and one could only see the picture when it popped out on image boards or websites no one important frequented. Fenris was glad for that because while he didn't plan to see the man ever again (no matter how much he saw him in his dreams), it meant that his anger would fade like he hoped his need of taking pictures of him would. Sadly, not so sadly maybe, luck was not on his side.

 

Varania seemed uninterested in going to the Hanged Man on an almost daily basis.

 

Anders, on the contrary, was there, sitting in front of him, and apparently would for quite some time. Moved to Kirkwall from Ferelden, has three cats and lived alone on the side of the city where the sun failed to shine every morning. And according to Isabela there, he had pierced nipples. Weird, for a doctor of his reputation. And he also was a social rights activist halfway through writing a book on slaves' freedom and justice and all the things Fenris had went trough. What did Anders know about those?

 

So no, Fenris wasn't happy about the doctor's presence. Hawke and the others were welcoming of Anders and that was enough for Varric, who ignored all the looks the elf threw in his way. Well, at least he could kick his ass at cards.

 

The day became night and the transition had went by smoothly enough, with Anders and Fenris trying to be civil around each other and avoid the photo at all costs. He could do this, yes he could.

 

Of course, someone (Hawke) had to bring slavery to the conversation. Which would have been great if the drink hadn't flown copiously and Fenris had to admit being just a little bit tipsy. Merrill was completely wasted and Isabela's ears were red. Anders, surprisingly, seemed to know how to handle his drink (drank a dwarf under the table once, he said).

 

In retrospect, Fenris and Anders' discussion had only one way of finishing after two and a half hours of screams, threats, sneers, insults and according to Isabela, sexual tension.

 

“What would someone like you know about loss?”, Fenris asked, screamed, he didn't know.

 

“What would someone like _you_ know about _me_?”, Anders countered.

 

“Ooh, this is good”, added Hawke filming them on his cellphone. Fenris tried to take it minutes before but gave up after his limbs failed to act correctly because of the alcohol. He was angry. Anders was the perfect example of everything he hated: people who spoke of things they knew crap about, that pretended to care just to get people's attention, that held themselves above the rest because of their careers or lives or achievements to the practical world.

 

“I apologize for ruining your perfect image”, Fenris started raising his voice little by little with every word he said, “with a mere picture and I'm sorry that you are so full of shit and I'm sorry you can't deal with the reality of your own dead nor with true loss”.

 

Anders pounced.

 

Physically, Fenris would have won the fight in less than a minute had he not been as inebriated as he was. He could not deny that the doctor could have given a lesser man a real challenge as he gave the drunk elf a run for his money and a broken nose. Hawke, of course, recorded it all, even the bit where they got kicked out.

 

All the alcohol he drank had started to settle in right then, because when the tried to stand after being thrown out, Fenris almost fell. Anders had caught him just barely and they stumbled to get into a position neither of them would trip over their own feet. While Fenris had a broken nose and possibly a scratch somewhere on his jaw, the doctor's face was completely devoid of signs of harm. It probably had to do more with Fenris actively avoiding hitting his face than with Anders' fighting abilities. He also noted the man's eyes were full of distress and pain. The elf cursed himself for still wanting to take a picture even in moments as inappropriate as the one they were in.

 

Fenris realized they were walking when he saw the wheeled coffin Anders had for a car got bigger the closer they got to it.

 

“Where do you think you're going?”, he managed to ask

 

“I'm taking you home, asshole”, Anders said with a clear voice, his stubble scratching Fenris' face, “so just shut up and learn to be thankful for once”.

 

“There's no reason for me”, Fenris replied while being almost thrown in the back seat of the car. He'd mind that fact later, “to be… Thankful to you”.

 

“You take a picture of me at my husband's grave”, Anders started, turning on the engine, “then you get it everywhere and then you chastise me for not knowing the things I speak about, which I do know about, while talking shit about things you know shit a-about!”.

 

Anders repeated the word about a couple of times as he tried to put his seat belt on, his finger too clumsy to be of any help. Fenris muttered “you broke my nose” but was easily ignored by Anders and even himself, too distracted by the whimpers that came from the man.

 

Anders was crying.

 

_Ugh._

 

“I'm not sorry”. The words coming to the elf slowly and difficult, dizziness from the car movements filling in, “Not for the things back there but… but I did not mean to make you cry”.

 

The car stopped abruptly and Fenris fell to the floor between the back and front seats. He almost puked.

 

“Who's crying!”, Anders screamed quickly, “nobody's crying! Much less because of you!”

 

“ _Venhedis_ , let me out!”

 

“Would you stop screaming!”

 

“You started!”

 

“You followed!”

 

“Just drive, you idiot!”

 

“Stop calling me an idiot!”

 

“Then stop being one!”

 

They continued screaming, with Fenris still on the floor, all the way to the elf's apartment. No one would never know how Anders had to carry him to his door nor all the maneuvers they had to do to get the key out of Fenris pants if Fenris had any say on that. Silence and darkness greeted them and Anders explained Varania was still at the Clinic and that he could pick her up in a couple of minutes. The elf was too busy crashing down on his cough to pay any attention to him.

 

Fenris was about to fall asleep until he saw by the corner of his eyes that Anders had sat on his armchair and was getting a little bit to comfortable in it, curling like a cat. He could have asked something remotely related to the doctor's actions but he had no control of his words.

 

“When did he die?”, he asked instead, turning his head a little to avoid getting his words muffled against the couch.

 

Anders needed no explanation, “two years ago”.

 

“I'm sorry”.

 

“No, you aren't”.

 

“Yes, I am”.

 

“No, you are drunk”.

 

Fenris laughed, he really was drunk. “Our mother's there too”.

 

“I'm sorry to hear that”.

 

Fenris noted the doctor was sincere, he would have a horrible poker face. “It was too long ago, I can't even remember her most of the time”.

 

“I thought Varania was the younger one?”

 

Fenris was really, really drunk and no being on Thedas could stop him from talking about things he hadn't said even to Hawke. “I ran away from home and left my sister and mother with out stepfather. To say he was not a kind man would be an underst… state...”.

 

“Understatement”.

 

“So the idiot knows how to say big words”.

 

“Shut up”.

 

“You shut up”. Fenris continued, “when I came back for them, with a new name, a new life for us three, she had died. Varania's had a hard time forgiving me, if she ever does, and I don't really believe I deserve it”.

 

Anders kicked him from where he was seating, he had long legs. Long and slender legs. “Don't say that”.

 

“You wanted to feed my remains to your cats”. Fenris noted.

 

“Forget that, we runaways have to step up for each other, don't we?”

 

“You too?”

 

“My name's not even 'Anders'”. When Fenris cocked an eyebrow, a look too funny with the rest of his drunk face, Anders added, “don't mind it, everyone calls me Anders because I'm from the Anderfels and my name is unpronounceable unless you know how to speak anders”.

 

“Try me”.

 

Whatever gibberish Anders said, it made Fenris think the doctor was going to vomit all over his floor. “Told you”, said Anders with a smile on his lips. He wanted to take a picture of him, again, but remembered that his camera was probably in the car. Or his room. Or the Hanged Man. For once in his entire life, he did not care for anything else, only for the man too gold and too long to fit in his armchair.

 

“'Idiot' suits you better”.

 

“I bet it does”, the doctor yawned, “I bet it does...”

 

They fell asleep within minutes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fenris woke up, rested and glad he had a dreamless sleep for once, no matter the position he woke in on the couch with half of his body on the floor and when had he gotten a blanket? As he regained consciousness, the memories came back to him one by one and he looked at the armchair, now empty. He tried to ignore the emptiness in his chest in favor of concentrating on the horrible headache he had.

 

He grunted and stood up slowly, his entire body heavy but strong. The sun's bright blinding him slightly, it had to be early as hell, Fenris thought grumpily.

 

“Ah, you woke up already. I made coffee”, said Anders from the kitchen.

 

Anders. Sitting at his kitchen table with Varania and a steaming pot of recently made coffe that smelled too good to be real. Fenris accepted the mug offered to him greedily. The man knew how to make some damn fine coffee, Varania's and his tended to be mostly bland. He sat with them and realized that the situation was more comfortable than it probably should have been, but the doctor seemed at home in his apartment with his disheveled hair and oh how he wanted to run his fingers through it. His camera was on the table.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Drinking coffee”, Anders answered, proud of his quick wit. “Varania made us breakfast too. And you left your camera in my car so I picked it up”.

 

“You both”, commented Varania still clad in her pajamas, “left the door open last night”.

 

“That, too”, Anders added laughing, “we're both idiots, lucky idiots”. In the sunlight, Fenris could appreciate better the wrinkles that laughing brought to the doctor’s face.

 

“Don't count me in with the likes of you”, Fenris said, his words flowing with more fondness than he intended and gaining a scrutinizing look from his sister.

 

“Too much of an asshole, you are”. Anders tone was warn and as fond as his and Varania eyed him too as he stood up and spoke to her. “I'll go back home and take a quick shower. Then I'll pick you up and drive us to the Clinic, alright?”

 

“Sure thing”.

 

Anders kissed her cheek and, with a wicked grin, ruffled Fenris hair running out of the door out to avoid getting hit again by the elf. When Fenris raised a hand to his head both from the doctor's gesture and his headache he noted bandages on his nose.

 

“It wasn't broken”, Varania said referring to his nose, “but still bruised and we tended to it while you slept. That and you jaw. He told me bits of what happened yesterday but I don't think there was really an elephant in the room”.

 

“It's a saying in Common”.

 

Varania complained about the language in her native and colorful Tevene only for Fenris to notice she was wearing her Sex Pistols' shirt. He smiled into his mug smoothing his hair and fighting hard to believe the heat in his face came from the coffee. From up there, the wheeled-coffin's engine could be heard alongside the birds, the people and the life outside. One way or another, whatever elephant they might have had was dead. And people complained why they were a species in risk of extinction.

 

His sister went away to get ready for work not before giving him a knowing smile and Fenris, as cheerful as someone like him could be, decided it didn't matter if he hadn't taken a picture of Anders yesterday or if he didn't today. There would be many chances for him in the golden future ahead of them all.

 

_Snap._

**Author's Note:**

> i dont like sex pistols what


End file.
